


The Naked City

by romanticalgirl



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Canon-Typical Violence, Detective Noir, Detective Steve Rogers, Film Noir, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 15:24:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18552502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: There are a lot of crimes in the city of Los Angeles. One of them is the death of a man most likely connected to the Russian mob, a man accused of the murder, and the woman who hires Steve Rogers, Private Eye to solve the case.Surprises, lies, and danger wait in the dark. But Steve was hired to do a job, and that's what he's going to do. Even if the people he's working for get in his way.





	The Naked City

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenoftheRandomWord42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheRandomWord42/gifts).



> Many thanks to [jjtaylor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjtaylor/pseuds/jjtaylor) for a speedy beta and her great suggestions. All mistakes, mishaps, and anachronisms are mine. 
> 
> Written for the Shrinkyclinks Fest 2019 for the prompt: Crime Noir or Private Eye AU, where Detective Steve is trying to prove Bucky is innocent of a crime.

Steve settles in his chair and props his feet on the desk next to the typewriter, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head, lacing his fingers together. His shades are half drawn against the afternoon sun, and _The Shadow_ is playing quietly on the radio. Steve’s pretty sure he’s already figured out the mystery.

He closes his eyes, then opens one as he hears a noise in the waiting area.

“Ma’am. You can’t go in without an appointment. Ma’am!”

Steve drops his feet to the floor, straightening up, his hand going to the Browning strapped under the desk. His shoulder holster and Beretta are in plain sight, but a man can’t be too careful.

“Ma’am!” the door to Steve’s office opens, and his secretary, Jeanne, is wringing her hands as she stands behind one of the most striking women Steve has ever seen. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Rogers. She wouldn’t—“

“It’s alright, Jeanne.” He hasn’t looked away from the woman nor released his grip on the gun. “Would you like some coffee, Ms...?”

“Constantin. Mrs.” She nods. “Coffee would be wonderful. Black. Two sugars, please.”

“My regular, please Jeanne.” She backs away a few steps then hurries to the coffee pot. “It’s only her second week. You know how hard it is to find a good receptionist?”

“You can let go of the gun, Mr. Rogers. I’m not here to hurt you or your lovely secretary. I’m here to ask for your help.”

Jeanne brings in the coffee then leaves, shutting the door behind her. In the meantime, Steve looks Ms. Constantin over. She’s dressed in a simple black dress that clings in all the right places, and makes it seem fancier than it is. Her striking red hair is styled beneath her black half-hat. She lifts the black veil with both hands so none of her face is obscured, then leans forward to pick up her coffee cup and takes a small sip.

Steve lets go of the gun and reaches for his own coffee. “So, how can I help you, Ms. Constantin?”

“My husband was murdered.”

“My condolences. Did you go to the police?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“They’re accusing my brother. They refuse to look any further.”

“What makes them believe your brother’s guilty?”

She sighs and settles her cup back on is saucer. “James did not like Andrei very much.”

“Lots of people don’t like other people. Doesn’t get them accused of murder. So, what’s the real reason?” He knows, even from just this much conversation that she’s lying to him or going to lie to him about something. He’s just not sure what yet.

“He’s very protective of me.”

“James is? Or Andrei was and James didn’t like it?”

“I want you to find my husband’s killer, Mr. Rogers. I want the person who did this brought to justice.”

“Where’s your brother now?”

“In jail. I was on my way to pay his bail. You could come with me.”

“Assuming I take the case.”

“Of course.” She gives Steve a smile that reminds him of a predator. “You will take the case, won’t you?”

“I’ll talk to your brother. Can’t promise any more than that.”

“I can pay you.”

“I’m sure you can. Andrei Constantin was a rich man. Though, given his penchant for card games and the ponies, probably not as rich as he wanted people to believe.”

“You knew who I was?”

“Not many women that look like you. Besides.” Steve taps the paper on his desk. “you’re front page news.”

“So all of this was to humiliate me? Make me beg?”

“No. I just thought I’d see what you had to say.” Steve leans in. “And you knew the paper was there. I imagine you wanted to see what _I’d_ have to say.”

She tilts her head slightly, acknowledging him. “Will you help us? I know James wouldn’t do this.”

“You’re probably right.” Steve stands and goes to the coat rack, grabs his suit jacket and hand then puts them on. “Jimmy ‘Brooklyn’ Barnes has never been dumb enough to kill someone that can be linked back to him. Or at least dumb enough to get caught.”

“Do you know everything, Mr. Rogers?”

“Not everything. But enough to know that you might be something to him, but you sure as hell ain’t his sister.”

**

Steve guides Ms. Constantin into the police station, palm against the small of her back. He’s just slightly taller than her, but about as slim. In her heels, she’s got an inch on him.

“Steven.”

He looks up at the familiar British lilt. “Captain Carter.”

“Bring a new friend here for a stay?”

“C’mon, Peg.”

“You must be here about the brother then.” The slight lift to Peggy’s eyebrows tells Steve she thinks Barnes is Mrs. Constantin’s brother about as much as Steve does, which is not at all. Of course, Steve would expect nothing less. Peggy’s not the first and only female police captain on the west coast for no reason. The ring of drug and diamond smugglers didn’t know what hit them when she was on the case, and thanks to a well-placed call to Steve’s friend on the paper, every bit of it made the news before anyone wearing slacks could claim the credit for himself.

It doesn’t get him any favoritism from Peggy other than the fact that she sometimes asks him to be her date to the Policeman’s Ball, and she always smiles at him when she tells him to fuck off. If Steve didn’t have a predilection for men, he’d be half in love with her.

Actually that’s not true. He _is_ half in love with her. He just isn’t interested in anything more, and he cares more about what’s in her head than what’s under her skirt.

“He doesn't need a private eye, Steve. He needs a very good lawyer.”

“You haven’t charged him yet, and it’s been twenty-four hours.”

“How do you always know more than you should? At some point, I’m going to find out who your source is.”

“Nah. If you did that, you wouldn’t have a reason to sass me.”

“I’m sure you’d give me one.” She sighs and turns, gesturing to one of the uniforms. “Bring Barnes out here.”

Bruce, one of Steve’s favorite officers, heads back to get Barnes. Peggy looks Ms. Constantin over, eyes laser sharp.

“I do hope you and your brother have no plans to leave town.”

“Of course not.” Ms. Constantin gives Peggy a smile that would likely reduce a lesser woman to tears. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. It would reflect badly on your… Brother’s presumed innocence. You’re staying at the Chateau Marmont still?”

“As of now, yes. We’ll be sure to notify you should that change.”

“See that you do.”

Bruce comes back into the main room with Barnes in front of him, Bruce’s hand on his shoulder. Bruce looks deceptively meek, but Barnes seems to realize that’s not the case.

“Hey there, sis.” He grins at Ms. Constantin. Picking up his hat where another officer has placed his things on the counter, Barnes tips it toward Peggy. “Captain. Ma’am.”

“Mr. Barnes.”

He takes the wallet off the counter, opens it and rifles through the money, obviously counting it. “You seem to have yourself a right honest department here.”

“Yes. We are the police.”

“Doll, I’m from Brooklyn. Trust me, it ain’t a universal trait in police departments.” He slides his hand into the crook of Ms. Constantin’s elbow. “Shall we?”

“Mm.” She turns Bucky slightly, so he’s facing Steve. He knows there ‘s no way Barnes hadn’t clocked him the minute he’d walked into the room, but now he’s all predator, and Steve has no problem picturing him killing someone. Now though, his gaze moves up and down Steve like he’s cataloguing every potential weakness. Steve knows he looks like he’s got a few - too thin, too short, blond hair and fair skin that all make him seem younger and weaker than he is.

The corner of Barnes’s mouth goes up in a rogue’s grin. “Who’s this?”

“Steven Rogers.” Barnes still hasn’t looked away, and the predatory look is still there, sharp and dark. “He’s the private detective who’s going to find out who really murdered Andrei.”

“This guy, huh?”

Steve lifts an eyebrow. “You have a problem with that? Because your… sister here hasn’t signed on any dotted lines.”

“You’re not going to say no to Natty, are you?”

“And what have I told you about calling me that, James?” Her look is ground glass. “You’ll take the case, won’t you, Mr. Rogers?” The sweet, innocent look she turns on him does nothing to impress Steve and even less to persuade him. She’s steering them down the street toward a diner, “You two should talk.”

James’s lips are twist in a knowing smirk. He takes Steve by the elbow and guides him inside and over to a table, raising his hand at the waitress. Ms. Constantin settles next to James, both of them facing Steve “Life with Nat is never boring. Unless you’ve got something better than just about the biggest case around.”

“I like to believe my clients are innocent.” Steve looks at Barnes steadily. “I’m not sure you are.”

“I don’t need you to believe me one way or the other. I just need you to find out the truth.”

“And you’re sure you aren’t the truth?”

“Positive. One - if I was going to kill him, I’d have done it ages ago. Two - if I’d done it, I wouldn’t have gotten caught.”

“I suppose your ‘Brooklyn’ Barnes reputation doesn’t come from nowhere.”

“Being a persuasive guy isn’t a crime yet, far as I know.”

“Depends on the method of persuasion.” Steve shakes his head. “You’d be better off with a lawyer.”

Barnes scoffs. “A lawyer doesn’t do any good until the end. They’d just hire a P.I. We’re cutting out the middle man.” Steve just smiles. It’s a valid excuse for not hiring a lawyer yet. Steve also doesn’t believe it for a minute.

“Everyone says you’re the best.” Ms. Constantin states. “We need the best. James’s reputation makes him an easy target.”

Steve doesn’t sigh, though he already knows he’s taking the case. “What evidence do they have?”

“Nope.” Barnes shakes his head. “Not until we have an agreement. You seemed a little too chummy with the police Captain.”

“Peggy’s a friend.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m gonna be your client, you’re under contract to us, and that means your and your best friend are on opposite sides.”

“Regardless,” Steve levels his gaze at Barnes. “If I find evidence that confirms you did this - ”

“You won’t,” Barnes snaps.

“If I do - ”

“You believe in truth and justice and all that, yeah? So you believe in innocent until proven guilty.” Steve nods, and Barnes doesn’t look away and, for the first time, Steve actually thinks Barnes is telling the truth. “So, Rogers? We have a deal?”

“Go to your hotel, get cleaned up, and come to my office.” Steve looks at Ms. Constantin. “I believe in innocent until proven guilty, but that doesn’t mean I’m not suspicious of everyone, so leave your sister at home.The way I see it, there’s no crime that isn’t a woman’s crime.”

She laughs, her eyebrows raised. “I think, Mr. Rogers, that we have definitely made the right choice.”

**

Barnes shows up an hour later in a fresh, tailored suit. Jeanne lets him into Steve’s office and closes the door behind her. She’s a good girl. Steve likes her; hopes she’ll stick around.

Barnes settles into the same chair Ms. Constantin had. Steve waits until he’s settled then leans forward, hands folded over the file on his desk. “James Buchanan Barnes, age twenty-nine, born March tenth, nineteen-seventeen. Graduated B.S. 8 Brooklyn at the age of fifteen, jumping grads three and four when your teachers got tired of you being smarter than them. Arrested at seventeen for the first time and got off scot free. Arrested three more times for racketeering though each time all charges were dismissed when someone else was found guilty, caught with their hand in the cookie jar.”

“Huh.” Barnes leans back and crosses his legs. “Strange that.”

“Isn’t it.” Steve watches him for a moment. “So, let’s start with who Ms. Roamn is to you. Really.”

“You didn’t dig that up too?”

“I’d rather hear it from you.”

“Which means you did, and you want to see if I’ll lie about it.” Steve shrugs noncommittally. Barnes just laughs. “Yeah, okay. Back in New York I did a little work for Buchalter. Katzenberg mostly. He had some friends from the mother country. Natalie came over with one of them. Called himself her papa. Papa’s don’t do what he did if you ask me. Sadly, he met an untimely end.”

“Sadly.”

“For him at least.” Barnes shrugs. “She and I are about the same age. We banded together.”

“And Andrei?”

“Another friend of Katzenbergs.”

“I guess a man like that can’t have too many friends.”

“Has to counterbalance the enemies somehow.” Barnes glances around Steve’s office. “Andrei didn’t know me from Adam, and no one was going to argue with me being her brother. So, big brother tagged along to sunny California.”

Steve glances out the window at the dark clouds hiding the sunset. “Did you like him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Didn't treat her well.”

“Or because you and she were lovers?”

“We aren’t. We were once, but I’m not rich enough. Besides, I prefer blondes.”

“So he didn’t treat her well, and he… sadly met an untimely end?” He holds a hand up before Barnes can protest. “Just trying to find patterns, Mr. Barnes. That’s how my business works. Everyone’s got a motive.”

“They caught the guy in New York. The one who killed Lukin.”

“Said he killed Lukin.”

“You’re arguing with a confession?”

“It’s just interesting to me how all the men involved with Ms. Constantin seem to meet their untimely demise.”

“This isn’t about Natalie. This is about me.”

“That doesn’t change what I just said.” Steve clears his throat. “But all right, Mr. Barnes. The police found you standing over the dead body with a recently fired gun in your hand. One that, by the way, matches the caliber in Mr. Constantin’s chest.”

“I imagine lots of guns do. Doesn’t mean I killed him.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“Why he’s dead? No, but I’ve got a few ideas. Why he was in the warehouse? No. But I’ve got a few ideas about that, too.”

“Let's focus on you for right now. Why were _you_ at the warehouse?” 

“Natalie and I were at the hotel that night. We had the radio on and I was painting her toenails.”

“Quite the task for a brother.”

“Natty ain’t got a lot of girlfriends. She’s not the kind most girls get along with.”

“She doesn’t like it when you call her that.” Steve raises an eyebrow and Barns smiles, something dangerous. “So, you were at the hotel, minding your own business.”

“Yeah. Then the front desk rings up to the room, says I have a call. I take it, and it’s Andrei. He says he’s got some business down near the docks and he doesn’t know who he can trust. Thinks someone else in his business is trying to undermine him, take over maybe.”

“But he trusts you?”

“He trusts that I won’t hurt her.”

“And hurting him would hurt your… sister.”

“You don’t have to keep saying it that way.”

“You said he didn’t treat her right. How was that? He never hurt her?”

Barnes scrapes his upper lip with his bottom teeth. “She can hold her own.”

“So he did.”

“Not when I was around. And I was always around.”

“All right.” Steve leans back in his chair, sensing the agitation rising inside Barnes. “So Mr. Rman trusts you. At least trusts you not to betray him so he wants you to have his back. What next?”

“I take a cab to the address he gives me. Cabbie wouldn’t drive around to find the right warehouse, so I got out, paid him, and hoofed it between the buildings to find the right one. I think I finally figured it out and head that direction. But it’s dark, half the lights on the docks are out. I’m heading closer to the water and I hear a shot.”

“Just one?”

“One. And then three more. I’ve got my gun out and I’m heading for the noise.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Most people hear gunshots and they go the opposite direction.”

“I’m not most people. And, my personal feelings aside, he’s Natalie’s husband. And he asked me for help.”

“A regular good Samaritan, huh?”

“That’s me.” Barnes crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes at Steve. “I see three guys run out of a building. I shoot off two shots, hit at least one of them. I head into the warehouse, see Andrei. I get close enough to tell for sure, but even before then, I knew he was dead. Stood there for...I don’t know how long, and then the lights come on and there are cops swarming in.”

“So quick. Convenient.”

“Ain’t it though?”

“So, which do you think was the goal? Getting rid of him or setting you up? Or was it a two for one deal?”

“I don’t know. Constantin had enemies, and he was in on some shady business. And before you ask, I don’t know what it was. He thought I was stupid. Good for muscle and that’s it.”

“Even with your reputation?”

“Katzenburger is from Russia, but he’s a Jew. World War Two aside, Andrei doesn’t like ‘em, doesn’t trust ‘em. I worked for him, so I got painted with the same brush. Figured I wasn’t anything without the mob behind me.”

“I gotta say, mob might help you out with this.”

“I don’t do that anymore.”

Steve nods and leaves it at that. He inhales and blows out a breath. “So you hit at least one of them?”

“I’m a good shot.”

“Sniper in the war, right?”

Barnes’s forehead furrows and he glares narrowly at Steve. “How do you know so damn much about me?”

“I have a friend or two on the force in Brooklyn. I’m from there. Born and raised. Came out here after the war.”

“How come?”

“Nothing there to go back to but memories.”

“How’d you end up over there? No offense, but you ain't exactly the G.I. type.”

“Navy. They figured I didn’t need to be big on a ship.”

“What’d you do?”

“Gunner.” 

Barnes nods, something in his expression that makes Steve think he’s re-evaluating him. “So. Are you taking my case?”

“I'll check the hospitals, some of the less--- reputable clinics around. If you shot those boys, they had to go somewhere unless you just grazed them.”

“I didn’t just graze them.”

“All right. I’ll look into that and check around the warehouse.”

“I’m not sure that’s someplace you should be going.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, and his voice goes sharp. “Excuse me?”

“It’s a rough neighborhood.”

“And let me guess. You don’t think I can handle it.”

Barnes shrugs. “You’re not exactly built like someone who can take on a dock worker or two.”

“Firstly, Mr. Barnes, I’m going down there to check on the warehouses, not take on a gang of dock workers or anyone else. Secondly, I’m a trained and licensed P.I. You don’t think I can do this job well. You came in the door. You can walk right back out it.”

Barnes holds up his hands in surrender. “Hey now. No offense meant. Just that you’re on my team here. Can’t have you laid up in the hospital.”

“Don’t worry,” Steve assures him. “I know what I’m doing.”

**

There’s a group of dock workers dragging a guy out of the water when Steve gets to the docks. He goes over to where they’re laying the body out. He stands next to a black man, dressed for work. “Hey, Sam.”

“Steve.” Sam doesn’t look at him, keeping his gaze fixed on the body. Fish-belly white and bloated, missing skin. He’s dressed in black, but there’s a hole in his pants, the size of a bullet, and the skin is washed free of blood, but it’s easy enough to see the hole.”I thought I told you to keep your scrawny ass away from here.”

Steve shrugs. “I ignored you then. I’m ignoring you now.” He’s known Sam for a few years now, since he’d solved a case where Sam had been accused of being part of a robbery ring. “How’d he get found?”

“Caught on one of the pilings. One of the barges hit him.”

“Killed him?”

“Look at him. He was dead already.”

Sam pointed to his own thigh where the bullet hole on the man is. “Bullet likely nicked his femoral. I mean, white boys are white, and dead white boys are even whiter, but that’s the kind of white you saw in the war. The white that says you’ve been watering the ground with your own blood.” 

“Speaking of, any in the area?”

“Hard to tell if the blood around here is on purpose or accident. Why?” Sam rubs the thick muscle of his shoulder. “You know something?”

“Maybe. Not quite sure yet. Can you tell me where the Mainland warehouse is?”

“Steve. Tell me you’re not getting involved with Russian mobsters.” 

“I’m not.”

“Right. You just want to go to the warehouse where one was killed the other night.”

“I just want to take a look. The cops are through with it, right?”

“Hmm.” 

Steve slides his hands into his pockets and rocks forward onto the balls of his feet. He’s careful not to smile. Smiling means he’s going to get what he wants and likely do something stupid, which means tthere’s no quicker way to seal Sam’s lips shut. “Hmm?”

“Well, here’s the thing, and I sure as shit shouldn’t be telling you this, because you’re going to do something stupid.” Steve flinches, because apparently it’s not just his smile that gives him away. Sometimes Steve forgets that Sam is too smart for Steve’s own good. “But when I got here that morning? I didn’t recognize any of the cops. Noone from Carter’s precinct, even though this is their territory.”

“Barnes ended up in Carter’s jail.”

“Yeah. I know. Kinda strange, don’t you think?”

“Very. I don’t suppose you recognized any of them?” Steve keeps watching the dead man, wondering how good a shot Barnes actually is.

“See, that’s the other strange thing. I thought I did, but there’s no way I could’ve.”

“Why’s that?”

Sam tilts his head from side to side, and the crack of it is loud in the silence hanging between them, despite the bustle of the men around the body. “Because the guy’s dead.”

“Dead.”

“You remember Bart Gallows? Took guff for his name all the time?”

“Yeah. Got shot in that thing out in Silver Lake.”

“Yeah. Got killed. But I swear it was him.” Sam walks away from the dead body, and Steve follows along. There warehouses don’t seem to have any order to them, so he stays close by Sam, memorizing the route. 

“Huh. I honestly didn’t expect a second dead person, much less a third.” He nods in the direction they’re walking. “Is that the one?”

“Yeah.” Sam sighs. “I have to get back to work. Make sure you don’t make the dead count four, huh? You still owe me fifty bucks.”

“I’m hard to kill.”

“Rogers, you’re short, scrawny, and stupid. It’s a surprise to everyone that you’re not deadl already.”

“But here I am. Still alive and kicking.”

“Your mama made a deal with the devil. That’s the only explanation.”

“I would really hate to hear what you’d say about me if we weren’t friends.”

“Probably not much different.” Sam puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I mean it. Be careful.”

Steve rolls his eyes and smiles at Sam, slipping out of his grip so he can head toward the warehouse. Barnes had given him a description of his route, as best he could remember it, and Stee takes his time examining the whole area as he gets closer and goes inside.

The cement floor is stained brown with blood, dusted white with chalk. A dirty remnant of someone’s life. He walks the inside, examining the walls for bullet holes. Ballistics haven’t come back on Barnes’s gun yet, but he’s not completely sure the results will change anything one way or the other.

“Rogers.” 

Steve looks over to where Clint is perched on a shipping crate. He’s learned not to question the way Clint just appears or the fact that he seems like he’s part bird, always perching on something. The information Clint gets for him more than makes up for any personality quirks. 

Dropping down to the ground, Clint looks at the chalk outline and shrugs. “Buy me food.”

“Coffee and pie?”

“Yes.”

Clint’s been Steve’s friend since the Navy, though they hadn’t been in touch for two years and then Clint had shown up at Steve’s door and dragged him to a crime scene. He told Steve if he liked puzzles so much, then he needed to solve this one.

Since then Steve had gotten his PI license and Clint had become something of a gateway to the criminal world, always knowing things and owning things he shouldn’t. Steve doesn’t question it, and Clint keeps showing up when Steve least expects it, always with something Steve needs, even if he’s not aware of it at the time. 

They fall into step, heading to one of the nearby diners. The shifts aren’t changing anytime soon, so the place is pretty quiet. They both order coffee and Clint selects slices from three different kinds of pie.Steve doesn’t say anything until Clint’s on his second cup of coffee and almost through a slice of lemon meringue.

“What have you got for me?”

“Russians are taking over more L.A. territory, and it’s causing some problems with the families. Tension s are high. Nobody’s happy.” Clint wipes up leftover lemon filling with his finger and sticks it in his mouth, sucking it clean then pulling it out with a pop. “Pretty sure your dead guy was playing both sides against the middle.”

“So did Barnes know or did he just figure it out? Did he really get called by Constantin or did he just show up? Did Constantin plan on Barnes ending up dead? Did someone else kill Constantin and use Barnes’s reputation so it’d get pinned on him? Was Constantin bait and Barnes the target all along?” Steve stabs his cherry pie with his fork. “Or did Barnes just shoot him?”

“Good questions. What's your gut feeling?” Clint shakes his head and starts on the coconut cream. “Nevermind. You took the case, so you at least _doubt_ that he did it.”

“He said he shot at the guys he saw running from the warehouse.”

“Didn’t see any stray bullets anywhere.”

“He was an Army sniper. And I’m guessing you saw the dead body they pulled out of the water.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Bodies end up in the drink all the time.”

“You're a regular ray of sunshine, Barton.”

“Don’t I know it.”

**

Steve knocks on the hotel room door and waits. Eventually it opens and Ms. Constantin’s standing there in a black silk robe that doesn’t do much to cover the matching black negligee underneath it. There’s a martini glass in her hand, and her kitten heels have black balls of fur on the top.

“Expecting company?” Steve asks.

“I’m a widow, Mr. Rogers. That’s why I’m all in black.” Ste steps back, sweeping her arm out to invite him inside. Steve follows her, watching as she moves behind the bar. “What’s your poison?”

“Whisky neat.”

She raises an eyebrow. Setting her drink down, she grabs a glass and a half-full bottle of Irish whiskey then pours him three fingers. “Have you found anything to help James?”

“Pieces of the puzzle, but not the big picture. Is he here? Your… brother?”

“We can dispense with that charade, don’t you think.” Steve nods. She comes over and hands him his drink. She gestures to a chair before settling on the chaise. “We had good reasons for lying.”

“Did your husband know? That Mr. Barnes isn’t your brother? Or that you were lovers?”

“I can’t say my husband and I were particularly close to each other, but I did know him well enough to know he wouldn’t have sent James up if there was the slightest chance he’d get caught in the crossfire.”

“Who was your husband working for?”

“Pierce shipping.”

“I can’t help Mr. Barnes if you don’t help me.”

“There are two Russian families in Los Angeles now. Andrei could have been working for either or both of them.”

“And who does Mr. Barnes work for?”

“You know,” Barnes walks into the main room and heads straight for the bar. “You may as well call me Bucky.”

Ms. Constantin exhales heavily and shakes her head, then joins Barnes so he can refill her drink from the glass pitcher sitting on the bar. Steve’s brow furrows. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“It’s my name.”

Ms. Constantin snorts, the sound somehow delicate. “It absolutely is not.”

“Nickname.” He says with a shrug. “Better than Mr. Barnes. And Natty.”

“James.”

“Natalie’s the only one who calls me James.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You’re aware that’s a ridiculous name, right?”

James - Barnes - Bucky- shrugs. “Is what it is.” He takes the drink Ms. Constantin gives him and sips some, licking his lips as he lowers the glass. 

Steve realizes he’s staring and shakes his head. “You worked for Murder Inc back in New York. You still have ties to them?”

“Nah. And they don’t care what’s going on out here. So long as it stays out of New York and Las Vegas, they’re happy to live and let live.” He sits on the chaise and stretches out his legs, lifting his glass again and taking another drink.

“That’s how they felt about you leaving?”

“We parted on good terms, otherwise we wouldn’t have parted at all. If that’s what you’re asking.”

 

“Just curious if they’d contract a hit on you. Or if they’re interested in you taking the fall for this.”

“Across state lines is getting in Federal territory. I don’t pretend to know a lot, but I know enough about what goes on to make that a bad idea.”

Steve nods and sips his whiskey. “Do you know who Mr. Constantin was working for or doing business with? Pierce shipping is a shell company, a name and a fake address.” He gives Ms. Constantin a look, gauging if she knew that before she told him it was Andrei’s employer. 

“Far as I knew, he wasn’t doing anything for anybody that wasn’t Andrei Constantin.”

“So not for either of the Russians then. Karapov or Chelintsov.” Steve looks down at his glass, ostensibly not paying attention to either of them. “So, Mr. Constantin. Andrei. I don’t suppose he’s any relation to the Romanovs.”

“Only by marriage.” Mrs. Constantin sits down next to Barnes and leans forward, her hand extended toward Steve. “Natasha Romanova.”

“So the Romanovs are part of this. Three Russian families moving in.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “I can assure you we had nothing to do with Andrei’s death, and he wasn’t a member of the organization at all. His family had money. We got the money. He got me.”

“So, just out of curiosity, has anything you’ve told me been the truth?”

Natasha smiles. “James is being accused of a crime he didn’t commit.”

“And why should I believe that?” He sets his drink on the table between them. “I’ll have someone return your check to you, Ms. Romanova. Seems I won’t be taking your case after all.”

“Rogers.” Barnes stands as well. “Steve.”

“Goodnight. Good luck.” He ignores the hand Bucky holds out, careful to stay out of his reach. “I’m sure you can find some other sap - or, private eye - to take your case.”

“I can explain.”

“I think I’ve heard all of your kind of explanations that I can stomach. Goodnight again, Mr. Barnes. Ms. Romanova.”

Steve leaves, not thinking how depressing his bank account is going to look without their check in it. But he doesn’t regret it.

Much.

**

Steve’s woken up by the pounding on his door. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep in his office, especially when his nice, warm bed is just a few blocks away, but it was easier to sit and focus on reports than let his head turn over the Romanov case.

The knocking continues, hard and sharp on the glass of the main door. Steve groans as he gets out of his hair. His back has gotten better since he was a kid, but he’s still not meant to sleep in chars. 

He winces as he walks out of his office to the main door where the knocking hasn’t stopped. Steve unlocks it and swings it open. “Glass is damned expensive to replace.” He frowns. “Barnes.”

“I need your help.”

“I already told you…”

“Natasha’s missing.”

“I’m sorry, but…”

“I know you don’t like me, but…”

“It’s not that I don’t like you. My feelings for you have nothing to do with this. You’ve lied to me since the moment we met.”

“I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Which version of it?”

“I met Natasha when we were young. That’s the truth. My reputation in New York. That’s true. We were lovers for a while. Also true. And she really is missing now.”

“I understand she’s got some powerful relatives. Maybe try one of them.”

“The Romanovs are trying to start a territory war and are fine burning L.A. to the ground if that's what it takes. Andrei was killed to keep her from making a grab for power. She intends to run the Romanov clan, but there are people who don’t want her at the top of the food chain. They killed Andrei or had him killed, and they tried to frame me for it.”

“Sounds like you’ve solved your own case.”

“I still don’t know who killed Andrei. That’s what we hired you for.” He doesn't let Steve speak, rushing before he can start. “We hired you because we heard you were the best. You don’t think like anyone else, and she knew you wouldn’t try to seduce her.”

“Why?” Steve smnirkes. “Because I look like I do?”

“No. Because she’s not your type.” Barnes pauses. “At all.”

Steve freezes for a moment then looks Barnes dead in the eye. “Is that a threat?”

“What?”

“I assume that’s what this is. Help you or you’ll tell the world what it is you two think you know about me?”

“No. I saw you. At the Rococo.”

Steve stops breathing for what feels like forever. “Blackmail then. I suppose you have pictures that you plan to hold hostage until I help you?”

Barnes sucks in a deep breath and holds it for a moment before exhaling slowly. “I saw you _in_ the Rococo.”

“I’m fairly certain that, had you been there, I and most everyone else in the club would have noticed.” He can picture Barnes in the club, leaning against the bar with a drink in his hand and a hungry look in his eye. Steve licks his lips without thinking. 

Barnes follows the movement with his eyes. Steve takes a deep breath and forces himself to focus. 

For all he knows, Barnes is lying about being in the club and that this really is blackmail. Which means Steve doesn’t have a choice. And even if Barnes is telling the truth, it doesn’t mean outing Steve has to involve how he knows. And Steve can’t take the risk and put his life and his business in jeopardy.

Barnes has Steve exactly where he wants him. 

Barnes steps forward and Steve steps back, keeping at least some physical distance between them. “Nat has the ability to piss off the kind of men who incorrectly assume she’s dumb or a sexual tool or defenseless. She trsuts you.l I trust you. She’s in danger, and we need your help.”

“I don’t trust either of you.”

Barnes takes another step forward and cups Steve’s jaw. “Please.”

“Sorry, Barnes. You’re not my type.” Steve moves away, not looking to see if Barnes realises it’s very much a lie. “Who do you think has her?”

“Karapov.”

Steve shakes his head and gives in. This case has its claws in him, and he’s going to solve it. He has solved it, he thinks. The who, though not all of the what and why. Barnes might be able to figure those things out “No. Sit.”

Barnes frowns but does, watching Steve as he pours them both a glass of whisky. He hands one over then sits on his desk. He looks at Steve for a long minute. “You think it’s Chelintsov,?”

He shakes his head again. “I think it’s the Romanovs.”

“What?”

“I think it’s the Romanovs.” He reaches behind him and grabs the file he’d been failing to ignore before he’d fallen asleep. “You know they’re trying to start a war. They take out Andrei and frame you. Take out her protectors. They kidnap her,” he adds a level of sarcasm to the word, “And suspicion and blame is going to fall on the other two families. She’s the match that’s going to set off the powder keg.”

“So they’ll kill her.”

“If she’s not in on the plan or under someone’s protection? Yes.”

“If she’d known, she would have told me.” He takes the file from Steve and looks through it. “Why did you do all of this if you weren’t going to help us?”

“Curiosity.”

“That’s a dangerous thing.”

“Well. I didn’t get into this business for the peace and quiet.”

“So will you help it? We’ll pay double the fee.” 

“Double?” Steve asks as he quirks an eyebrow. “You spending your money or hers?”

“I’m pretty sure she wants to stay alive. The Romanovs have a tendency to be ruthless. And if they are behind it, there’s no one to go to to save her.” He looks up at Steve, long lashes shading his worried eyes. “Will you help us?”

“Do you know a man by the name of Gallows?”

 

“I know there’s a gun for hire that goes by that name. Andrei used him a few times.”

“Pretty sure someone else used him on Andrei.” Steve sighs. “Triple.”

“Okay. Triple.”

“And whatever you think you saw at the Rococo? You didn’t see it.”

It takes Bucky a moment, but he nods. Standing up, he sets his drink on Steve’s desk and holds out his hand. “Deal.”

His grip is strong, firm in Steve’s. He steps closer, crowding against Steve, standing in the vee of Steve’s parted legs. His breathing catches in his chest as Bucky’s eyes drop to his lips. 

“But if I had seen it...” He breaths, warm air brushing Steve’s skin. Steve’s eyes threaten to close, but Barnes shaking his head and pulling back keeps them open. “But I didn’t.”

It takes Steve a few moments to remember how to breathe. Barnes is too close, and Steve’s eyes dop to his mouth. “No.” Steve licks his lips. “You didn’t.”

Bucky swallows and nods, and the moment, or whatever it might have been, disappears. “So what do we do next?”

“She was taken from the hotel?”

“Yeah.”

Steve slides off the desk, still far too close to Barnes. “Let’s go look for some evidence.”

**

There’s a martini glass on its side on the carpet, the fabric beneath it dark. “How does she handle her liquor?”

“She can drink most men under the table.and not show a sign of it.”

“Does she own a gun?”

“A .22.”

Steve turns, putting himself were Natasha was likely standing. He looks around the room then goes over to one of the walls. “This looks about that size.”

Bucky walks over and traces the bullet hole in the wall. “But no blood. Nattasha’s too good a shot for that.”

“Warning shot? If she hit anyone, it wouldn’t likely go through and through.” Steve looks around for any other clues. “Other than the drink, there’s no signs of a struggle. Do you think she went willingly? Or, if not willingly, strategically?”

“Knowing Nat? It's definitely a possibility.”

“Okay. So now the question is would they keep her on Romanov property or would they risk it.”

“There are quite a few properties off the radar.” Bucky shakes his head. “But nobody’s going to give me anything. I’m too close to Natasha, and I’m the primse suspect in Andrei’s murder. I doubt I could get through the door.”

“I’ve got a few connections and a trick or two up my sleeve.” Steve puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back onto his heels. “I think you’ll be safe here. They want you to take the fall for Andrei so they’re not going to try to disappear you. Get some sleep.”

“Seriously?”

“Let’s face it, Barnes. You’re a good mobster, but you’re no P.I.. Let me do the job you’re paying me for.”

“So just sit here?”

“Nah. Look pretty, too. And if the cops come knocking, tell them you want a lawyer and keep your trap shut.”

“That’s your advice.” Barnes’s voice was incredulous. “Really?”

“You hired me not Ann Landers.” Steve meets and holds Bucky’s gaze. “If it’s Gallow, keep the door shut. Stay put. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Barnes takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Okay. But you call me if and when you find something.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Goodnight, Barnes.”

“Thought you were going to call me Bucky.”

“Pretty sure I never said that.”

**

Steve wakes up face down on the floor with a headache and a goose egg that he’s pretty sure is the size of Nebraska.

From the smell of it, he’s at the docks near the fishing boats. He groans and sits up, bracing himself with his hands so he doesn’t fall over as the world seems to tilt on its side. He blinks to make sure his vision is normal. 

It takes a few moments before everything there’s only one of everything instead of four, and even then he stays put for a few more minutes before he tries to get to his feet. It takes a while, pausing as he gets to his knees and then finally stands. The room tilts sideways hard and fast, and he stumbles, grabbing onto a nearby crate to steady himself.

He curses under his breath and leans heavily against the crate. The night before is vague and shadowy, though that may just be his vision again. His side stings and he reaches down, not actually surprised when he pulls his hand away and sees blood on his fingertips

Apparently last night he hit a nerve.

And the nerve hit back.

Once he feels steady enough, he takes a few tentative steps. He manages to stay upright, so he takes a few more before moving away from the crates altogether. He winces as the light from the window hits him and he finally thinks to look at his watch. The numbers swim a little, but he eventually he makes out that it’s four. Given the fact that the streetlamps are one, he’s guessing it’s still morning.

The last thing he remembers is being in a bar and looking around as he waited for his whiskey. It finally dawns on him to check for his gun, but he’d left his holster at the office, and apparently they didn’t look or simply hadn’t found his Heizer Double Tap.

He makes it to the door and leans against it for several moments, steadying himself and catching his breath. He stays there listening, trying to figure out if he’s actually alone or just being led to believe he is. 

He reaches down for his gun, nearly falling over. He grabs for the door handle so he stays on his feet. At least the gun feels solid in his hand, though he has no real desire to use it. He has before and will again if he has to, but wounding or killing a man isn’t something he can just get over.

His initial peek through the slight opening of the door reveals no one, but he’s still cautious and prepared as he pushes it further. There’s still no one in sight, and Steve wonders actually hallucinating all of this or they simply left him for dead.

He winds through the warehouses, gun in hand. He puts it away as he reaches the street, stumbling like a drunkard until he finds a phone booth to half-collapse inside. 

Sam’s likely working at the other end of the docks, reaching Clint requires routing a call through several different channels that Steve doesn’t have the ability to keep straight right now. Peggy’s probably working and certainly willing to judge him, Jeanne’s not going to be in the office on a Sunday. 

He doesn’t want to, but he ‘s left with only one option. He definitely needs more friends. He drops in his coin and dials. “Chateau Marmont. How may I assist you.”

“May I have the Constantin suite, please” Other areas of pain are waking up, and Steve hisses under his breath.

*I’m sorry, sir. The Constantins have ended their stay with us.”

Steve rests his head against the glass side of the phone booth and sighs. “All right. Thank you.”

He hangs up and just breathes for a moment. He’s got a throbbing head, he's been consistently lied to, he hasn’t gotten paid, and he’s quite possibly on the hit list of three different Russian families.

He straightens and drops another nickel in the phone. He makes three calls to three different cities, and about ten minutes and a stabbing pain that almost brings Steve to his knees later the pay phone rings. He picks it up and before he can say anything, he hears Clint.

“Are you dying?”

“Not exactly. You sound like you are though.” Of course, that’s Clint’s default sound before three in the afternoon. 

“Possibly sooner rather than later. I need a ride from the docks to the police station.”

“I don’t like the police station, Steve. The police don’t like me.”

“You can drop me off at the door. Don’t even have to stop. Just slow down.”

“Think that would put me higher on Captain Carter’s most wanted list.” Clint yawns, loud and long. “Gimme the address. I’ll be there as soon as I can find my keys. And my pants.”

**

Steve leans against his door and closes his eyes, fitting the key in the lock by feel. Peggy said there was nothing to tell, and Steve believes her. As good as she is at hiding things and lying, Steve’s even better at getting a read on people. 

The lock finally gives way and the door opens. Now that he's almost home, he’s ready to collapse. He’s spent too many nights sleeping in his office capped off by what’s probably a concussion. All he wants is his bed.

“Steve.”

Steve whips around, gun drawn and the safety off by the time he’s face to face with the person who broke into his apartment. The quick movement almost sends him to the floor, but he manages to stay standing. “Barnes?”

“What are you doing here?”

“What happened to you?”

“You first,” Steve snaps. He safeties the gun and points it toward the floor, but he doesn’t put it away, and he sure as hell doesn’t relax. “And fast. I don’t have a lot of patience right now.”

“Someone came to the hotel. One of the cops that took me to the station.”

“Maybe he found more evidence against you.”

“He wasn’t in uniform.”

“When I called the hotel they said you’d checked out. He give you time enough to do that?”

“I stayed out of sight until he headed to the suite and asked the desk to say we’d both just left and didn't pay our bill.”

“And?”

“I paid the damn bill and came over here. I need your help.”

“You don’t think they know I’m working for you? You don’t think they’d think to come here.”

“That’s the thing. There are two guys tied up in the empty apartment next door.”

Steve rubs his temples. “Did you call the police?”

“No.”

Steve’s head falls forward and the throbbing intensifies. “I’m seriously regretting her ever walking in my door.”

Bucky takes a step forward, reaching out and touching Steve’s chin, raising his head and tilting it from side to side. “What happened to you?”

“Woke up like this.” He steps back out of Bucky’s reach. “Got too close to something. Hopefully I’ll remember what it was at some point.”

 

Bucky moves close again. “Let me clean you up.”

“I’m fine.” 

He brushes Steve’s cheek and Steve can’t help wincing as he jerks back. “Please. It’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t-”

“Shut up.” Bucky presses a finger to Steve’s lips. “Let me. Please.”

Steve closes his eyes and nods, huffing out a sigh. “Fine.”

Bucky guides Steve over to the couch and even his light touch is enough to push him down onto the cushions. Steve winces again as he lands, the impact jarring him. Bucky turns on the lap beside the couch. “First aid kit?”

“Bathroom?”

Bucky nods and heads that direction. Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. His ribs protest loudly and he grits his teeth. The exhale hurts almost as much. When he opens his eyes, Bucky is squatting down in front of the couch, face the same height as Steve’s. 

“Broken ribs?”

“Bruised I think.”

“What else?”

“Pretty sure what you see is what you get.”

“Sit up. Let’s get your shirt off you.”

“Pardon?”

“We need to tape your ribs.” Bucky hooks a finger in Steve’s loosened tie and pulls slow and steady. Steve watches it separate, his gaze locked on Bucky’s finger. When the tie finally falls apart, Steve lifts his eyes and meets Bucky’s. Bucky raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything as he starts unbuttoning Steve’s bloodied shirt.

“Not sure these stains will come out.”

“I’ll add a new shirt to your bill.” Steve tells himself the faintness of his voice is due to the fact that he can’t take a deep breath, not anything else.

Bucky undoes the buttons, and Steve feels the tug of fabric until they’re loosened, and then Bucky’s fingertips trail down his chest to the next one. He can’t stop watching, and his breath catches when he gets to Steve’s belt. Buck tugs lightly at his shirt then unfastens his belt.

Steve swallows hard and his eyes dart up. Bucky isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at his own hands as he slides the zipper of Steve’s slacks down. The noise is loud in the relative silence, only competing with the shallow, ragged sound of their breathing.

Bucky’s upper teeth are sunken into his lower lip, white and sharp. He glances up at Steve through thick, dark lashes and tugs at Steve’s shirt again. Steve arches his back slightly and the shirt comes free of his slacks.

Bucky makes short work of the last few buttons, then his fingers brush the ribbed fabric of Steve’s tank top as he pushes the shirt back then guides it off Steve’s shoulders. It falls in a rumpled pile at Steve’s hips.

Steve’s throat makes a soft click as he swallows, staring at Bucky’s lower lip, red and swollen when he releases it from his teeth. He tries and fails not to stare at Bucky's mouth, and he licks his lips without thinking.

He’s so caught up in the sight, he starts when Bucky tugs the tank top free, his fingers sliding against Steve’s skin as he guides it up. Steve reaches out and grabs Bucky’s wrists. “I can - ”

Bucky shakes his head. “Bet you can’t. Lift your arms.”

Now that the panic, fear, and adrenaline have worn off, Steve realizes Bucky’s right. He can barely manage lifting his arms hallway. He ignores Bucky’s smirk and lets him maneuver the shirt off of him. 

“Not exactly the way I wanted to get you out of your clothes.” Bucky shakes his head and hisses. “Jesus. They got you good.”

“Nothing good about it.” Steve can see the bruises darkening on his skin, knows he’s going to feel worse before he feels better. “Should hurry before your boys next door get any ideas.”

“Did you find out anything?”

“Other than the fact that I don’t like waking up in warehouses looking like I got in a fight with Joe Louis and twelve of his closest friends? Yeah. Jacket pocket.”

Bucky grabs Steve’s jacket and pulls out a small notebook. He hands it to Steve who sets it on the couch and uses one hand to flip through it. 

“There’s a new bar down by the docks, but there were an awful lot of suits and not a single dock worker inside.”

“A front?”

“Maybe. Maybe just a meeting. Not sure which family, but they were definitely Russian, and they did _not_ want me hanging out and enjoying my drink.”

“Did you say anything to them?”

“I didn’t ask if they were hiding the Romanov princess if that’s what you’re asking.” Steve hisses as Bucky rubs a cotton ball soaked with alcohol over a gash in his side. “That really necessary?”

“Seeing as it’s bleeding? Yes.” Bucky tosses the bloodied cotton to the side and grabs another one, soaking it as well. “You think Andrei was really killed to get to Nat?”

“I think there’s absolutely no question that he was killed because of Nat. I think you being framed for it is about Nat. I think they wanted to separate her from all the protection she had.” Steve closes his eyes as the cold of the alcohol swipes against his skin. “They didn’t count on Peggy being an honest and rule-abiding cop.”

“Probably didn’t know such a thing existed.” Bucky’s hands settle on Steve’s hips, his thumbs stroking slow swipes over Steve’s skin. “Lucky me.”

Steve swallows hard. “I think I’m all fixed up.”

“We haven’t taped your…” Steve’s not sure what Bucky sees when he looks at him, but whatever it is, it silences his protests. “Yeah.” He lets go of Steve then rocks back onto his heels and stands. “You should probably change before we go interrogate your new neighbors.”

Steve nods and stands up, wincing as he does. “You don’t think me half naked and banged up is intimidating enough?”

“Not sure it sends the message you’re hoping to convey.”

Steve huffs a soft laugh that hurts far more than it should. “What message does it send?”

Barnes doesn’t say anything, and Steve looks over his shoulder. He’s looking at Steve in a way that brings goosebumps up on Steve’s skin. He turns back, not sure if Barnes saw Steve’s attention on him. There’s heat under his prickling skin, and he’s careful to shut the bedroom door behind him. He leans against it for a moment before pushing himself up and toward his closet.

He forgoes the undershirt, knowing that there’s no way he’s going to be able to get one on by himself, and there’s no way he’s inviting Barnes into his bedroom to help him get dressed. He doesn’t want to admit that it’s because he thinks it’s more likely that he’d end up out of his pants instead of in his shirt, but that’s the truth of it.

He manages the button-down and a new pair of slacks that aren’t covered in warehouse dust and likely blood. He tucks his shirt in and does up the slacks, buckling his belt as he walks back to the living room. 

Barnes is back on his feet, the first aid materials all cleaned up, the kit on the side table by the lamp. He heads toward the door as Steve comes out, and Steve follows him. As promised there are two guys in the next apartment, tied up, gagged, and not happy about it. 

Steve looks at the one closest to the door and shakes his head. He recognizes him from one of his first cases in the city. Steve had solved the case, and it hadn’t ended well for the man sitting on the floor in front of him. “Vlad. I thought you knew better.”

He mumbles something behind the gag. Steve walks over and tugs the gag out of his mouth. He waits for Vlad to say something, but all he does is manage to gather enough saliva to spit in Steve’s face. Steve wipes it away, flicking it so it hits Vlad then he smears his wet fingers down Vlad’s suit jacket.

“Would’ve thought that San Quentin would have made you think twice about getting caught up with the mob again.”

“Not saying a word to you, Rogers.”

Steve hears the click of a safety being disengaged and sees the muzzle of Bucky’s gun out of the corner of his eye. “You sure about that?”

Vlad laughs. “You obviously don’t know Rogers if you think that’s gonna scare me. Rogers aint the shooting kind.”

“He’s right,” Steve says to Bucky, but keeps his gaze on Vlad. He smiles slowly, dangerously. “But he’s part of Murder, Inc. You’ve managed to piss him off. And he _is_ the shooting kind.”

Vlad looks from Steve’s smile to Bucky’s gun and slumps slightly. “I don’t know anything.”

“Now now.” Steve tsks. “I think you might be lying to me. To us. Somebody kidnapped his sister, Vlad. Imagine if someone kidnapped your sister. How would you feel?”

“She is black widow. She is no sister to anyone. You don’t know he’s her lover? You believe his lies?”

“Where is she, Vlad?”

“You think I know? I know nothing. I get paid to get rid of him.”

“Did a bang up job of that,” Bucky nudges Vlad’s check with the gun muzzle.

Vlad smiles slowly. “You are here, no?”

Steve sees the muscles of Bucky’s hand twitch, but rather than pulling the trigger, he moves the gun and brings the butt down on Vlad’s temple. 

“Wait in the hall.” Steve straightens and gives Bucky a look. Bucky’s jaw tightens, but he safeties his gun and leaves the apartment. Steve wants to take something for the pain, drink something for the pain, and sleep for about three weeks straight. Instead he goes over to Vlad’s friend and pulls his gag down. Steve squats down, swallowing a pained sound. “I’m going to make this easy for you, pal. We know the Romanovs are behind it. We know they’re using Andrei’s death and her disappearance or death is just to start a war with the other families. We know all of that. All we need to know is where she is.”

“I - ”

Steve cuts him off before he can say anything. “And I don’t know if she’s his sister or his lover or his fifth cousin twice-removed. And I don’t care. All I care about is getting paid. She dies, I don’t get paid. I don’t get paid, and it’ll be pretty easy to forget about the two of you in here. Eventually the smell would give you away, but I’d hate to see what you look like by the time that happened.”

“I don’t - ”

“And I know you’re going to tell me you don’t know. But you know something or someone who knows something. And you’re going to tell me who that is, or I’m inviting Barnes back in and letting him take out his frustrations.” He stands up, clenching his fists to keep from wincing. “Your choice.”

The guy looks over at Vlad and then back at Steve.”What makes you think you two are scarier than the people who sent us?”

Steve smiles, all teeth. “What makes you think we’re not?”

**

Steve makes a few calls while Barnes pours them each a drink. Sam’s easy to get in touch with, but he has to talk to a lady at the laundromat who doesn’t speak English and a guy at a fish market in San Francisco in an effort to get a message to Clint. He can only hope that it’s the right combination of people, since with Clint it’s always a crapshoot. 

“Here.” Bucky hands him a glass and Steve takes it with a sigh. He walks over to the couch and sinks down on it, leaning his head back against it. He follows Steve onto the couch, sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees and staring down into his whiskey. “Why won’t you tell me what he told you?”

“Because you’ll go off half-cocked and get one or both of us killed.”

“You don’t know what she means to me.”

“You’re right.” Steve turns his head and looks at Barnes. “I’ve got no idea, because I’ve been told a whole mess of stories, and I don’t think a single one of them is the truth. And that’s fine. If I only took cases from people I believed, I’d be living in a box like it was the depression all over again.” He takes a sip of his drink and Barnes looks up at him. “People lie. That’s how my business works.”

“Why’d you take this case?”

“Why’d you come to me? Marlowe and Spade are the ones people with money go to. Why’d you come to me?”

“I heard you were good.”

Steve drains his glass, turns sideways and props his knee on the couch. He rubs his thumb along the rim of his glass and holds Bucky’s gaze when he turns as well. “Where’d you hear that?”

Bucky’s quiet for a long moment and a flush darkens his cheeks. “The cops. The ones who arrested me. They said they hoped you didn’t get involved.”

Steve nods, everything finally coming together, the last piece of the puzzle slipping into place. He stands up and takes his glass to the kitchen, putting together a pot of coffee and setting it on the burner. “We’re going in for her at dawn. Probably need to stop with the whiskey.”

**

Steve and Bucky walk down the street from where Steve parked the car toward the place they were set to meet Sam and Clint - assuming Clint showed. Sam isn’t there, and Steve stiffens at the sight of a Triumph Roadster parked where a car that expensive shouldn’t be. He plans to just keep walking until Clint hops out of the car. “Hey, boss.”

“Do I want to know where you got this car, Clint?”

Clint tilts his head then shakes it. “Nope.”

“Is there a reason you thought it was a good car to bring?”

This time Clint shrugs. “Only one I’ve got.”

“It’s a beauty,” Bucky says as he runs his hand over the hood. 

Steve sighs. “Don’t encourage him.”

“Okay. A mobster, a detective, a negro, and whatever the hell Barton is walk into a bar.” Sam steps out of the shadows of the cross street and his mouth twitches in a smile. “Pretty sure this is the start of an off-color joke.” This time he laughs. “Ha. Off-color.”

“You guys are a regular Abbott and Costello.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Can we get started now?”

“Depends.” Sam leans against the car next to Clint. “Does that mean you’re going to tell us why you called us all here?”

They’re still a ways from their destination and they’re all actually quiet as Steve outlines the plan. Sam waits until he’s done to ask, “How do you know your prisoner was telling you the truth?” 

“We don’t.” Steve nods toward the building. Sam sighs and shakes his head. 

“I’m a law-abiding citizen, Rogers.”

“I know. That's why Clint’s the one picking the lock.”

Sam presses his lips together tightly, but goes into the building right behind Steve. Bucky follows him and Clint brings up the rear. There’s noise toward the back, so they make their way slowly toward it. There’s a radio playing a comedy show, and the sound of people laughing. Steve holds up five fingers then drops them one at a time. Once the count reaches zero, Bucky slams his foot against the door and it swings open, slams against the wall and springs back, but Bucky’s already in the room. 

Sam takes the brunt of the door for Steve and he slips past, his gun out and pointed at the center mass of one of the guys now currently on his feet. Sam comes fully into the room with a heavy cudgel in his hand.

It doesn’t take much to subdue the three men. They have the element of surprise, and the men look like they’ve been held captive as long as Natasha. They’re down to their tank tops, sweaty and ripe in the oppressive heat of the room. There’s a sour smell of food gone bad and a thick reek of beer. 

“Where’s Romanova?” Steve asks, his gun steady where its aimed at the guy’s chest. Bucky steps closer, head tilted slightly. When he’s directly in front of one of the guys, he starts laughing.

“She beat you up. All three of you. Didn’t she?”

“She’s possessed.”

“She’s over here, guys. Knocked out. Think they drugged her with something.” 

Steve doesn’t look at Clint. “Let’s get these three tied up. Sam, go make the call.”

Sam’s looking at one of the guys, his eyes narrowed. “Can I hit him? Just a little?”

“Sam. Call Peggy.”

“Wait a minute, Steve.” Clint comes over with several clear bags filled with white powder in his hands. “This is more than wanting a war. This is about the docks.”

“Sam.” Steve motions with the gun so the guy he’s aiming at goes back to his chair. “Call Peg, tell her what we talked about. And call an ambulance for her.”

Sam leaves and Steve and Bucky tie the three men to their chairs, using rope that Clint had in his bag. Steve makes sure it’s tight - possibly too tight - and Bucky doesn’t seem to be any easier on them than Steve.

“If she’s not okay,” Bucky leans into the face of one of them, looking him dead in the eye. “You’re going to wish I’d just shot you in the head. Because I’m gonna take my time taking you apart piece by piece.” He straightens and puts his gun away, trading it for a butterfly knife. “And I’m gonna make sure you’re conscious for every part of it.”

“We just did what we were told!”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, but his face is expression is anything but agreeable. “So did the Nazis. You saw how that turned out, right?”

**

Natasha leans against the wall of the police station corridor, looking none the worse for wear from her ordeal. Bucky slouches next to her, his knee bent and foot on the wall. Steve stands slightly apart from them, waiting for Peggy to finish up talking to the mayor. When she does, she turns, pinning Steve to the wall with her gaze. He straightens up and does his best not to smile. She’s gorgeous when she wants his head on a platter.

“You were hired, were you not, to prove Mr. Barnes innocent?”

“Yes.”

Bucky looks over at them, straightening slightly as well. Peggy ignores him. “And along the way you routed out a group of kidnappers, saved their hostage, found a drug-smuggling operation, and brought down one of the main Russian crime families.”

“Um. Yes.” Steve frowns. He has no idea where she’s going with this. 

“And yet you still haven’t proven that Barnes didn’t kill Andrei Constantin.” 

“Oh, c’mon, Captain Carter. You and I both know the ballistics don’t line up. Barnes’s gun was fired, and the bullet your guys dug out of the warehouse wall proves that. And, since it doesn’t match the one inside Constantin, well…”

Peggy points at him, her finger dangerously close to his nose. “I’m going to find out who on my squad is your mole, Rogers, and when I do…”

“What was the mayor saying about your arrests tonight, Peg?”

Peggy huffs a huge breath, but she can’t quite hide her smile. “Get out of my station. And stay out.” Steve tips his hat to her as she turns to Bucky and Natasha. “Ms. Romanova. Mr. Barnes. That goes for both of you too.”

“Of course, Captain Carter.” Natasha says, matching Peggy’s smile with one of her own. “As nice as it was to meet you, I certainly have no desire to prolong the acquaintance.”

Peggy turns her gaze to Bucky. “Do stay out of trouble, Mr. Barnes.”

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

“Do better than that. Now go. All of you.”

Steve gives Peggy a kiss on the check before they all walk out into the sunlight. Natasha pulls on a pair of dark sunglasses and makes her way to a waiting car. Steve calls out to her. “There’s going to be a power vacuum now.”

“I know.” She smiles at Steve, wide and sharp. “But not for long. Come on, James.”

Bucky nods then looks at Steve and nods again before getting into the car as well. Their check is in his inside jacket pocket, and his business with them is done. There’s no reason for him to see either of them again.

He stands on the sidewalk and watches the car drive off until it disappears around the corner, then he shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks and starts walking home. 

That doesn’t mean he won’t.


End file.
